


trigger warning

by troubled



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: (Brief) Underage Prostitution, Age Reversal, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-07-28 06:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16235666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubled/pseuds/troubled
Summary: if you want something badly enough, you'll do anything to get it.yunho trades little bits of himself to pay for the journey, the hundreds of miles between gwangju and the basement of an entertainment company. as his world skews out of control, he becomes entangled with shim changmin: sm's golden boy, south korea's number 1 bachelor and someone who is not what he's supposed to be.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> heed the warnings, guys. otherwise, enjoy. :)

 

The bus deposits Yunho three blocks down from his actual stop, before speeding away in chase of something else. He makes a beeline for the nearest convenience store and grabs whatever cheap enough to keep him on his feet for a few more hours, carefully counting out his coins to the pudgy girl manning the counter. She clicks her tongue, impatient, and doesn’t look at him when he says ‘ _thank you_ ’. The small, cramped alley leading to his building provides a semblance of comfort and the old lady next door is sweeping the paved walkway, her broom a steady, scratching _swish, swish, swish_. She smiles at him and he lingers for a while, asks her if she needs any help.  
  
After dumping several trash bags and getting a sweetcake in reward, Yunho bids her goodbye and heads home.  
  
The living room is empty, as does the kitchen. There’s a note on the fridge that he crumples into the bin underneath the sink. Yunho climbs the stairs to his room, dropping his bag near the study table. His pillows are askew, the picture frames he keeps on the table moved a few inches out of place and he wonders if someone had been here when he wasn’t. It couldn’t have been his mother – he hasn’t seen her for three days and doesn’t expect her back for at least another week. She’d been gone longer, but this time, she remembered to give him an approximate so he doesn’t worry over losing the only parent he has left.

Tiny wrinkles ripple across the bedsheet when he sits at the edge, digging underneath the frame for a small mobile phone taped securely in place. He shrugs off his uniform as the phone comes to life, followed by a series of beeps that signal incoming messages. Five eventually sits in his inbox. Yunho scrolls through them and laughs softly, the sound echoing hollow even to his own ears. A quick glance through the window tells him that it would soon be dusk, the sun starting to dip towards the silhouettes of too-tall buildings and communication towers.

He needs to catch another bus to Seoul, find a place to sleep that night.

Yunho changes into a pair of ripped jeans, a shirt so tight it cuts into his ribs, and runs gelled fingers through his hair. The strands are getting too long, but he realises early on that some guys like to root their fingers there when they shove their cocks down his throat. Keeping him in place, like a good, little whore. It’s not something he would’ve imagined doing two, three years ago, but their money pays for school and groceries and Jihye’s field trips and his travelling expenses, so Yunho had perfected the art of telling himself that he doesn’t mind being treated like something less than human. He drags chapstick over his lips and tosses some clothes into his backpack, before easing out a box of condoms from underneath the untidy heap of t-shirts in his drawer.

The weight is light in his hand, much too heavy in his heart. Yunho shoves it into the backpack.

He throws on a sweater, a shaggy beanie and checks the address in one of the texts.

 

*

 

The man looks like one of his neighbours’ son, but it’s hard to tell in the dark of the hotel room. Yunho hooks his arms around broad, muscular shoulders as he fucks himself on the man’s cock, screwing his eyes tightly so he doesn’t need to see his reflection on the large mirror across them. The man squeezes his hips, nails branding half-moons into sweat-slick skin and he groans. Picks up his pace, thighs burning from exertion and desperation. Just to get this over with. Yunho’s eyes latch on the painting on the wall when he cracks them open, at the generic geometric shapes and lines, and he thinks about his Maths homework as the man shudders against him, emptying into latex.

He showers in the room after the man is gone, scrubbing hard enough to peel skin from bones.

 

*

 

“Are you losing weight again?”

Yunho frowns at cords snaking out from behind the sound system. His CD is jammed inside, refusing to spit out the playlist he’d painstakingly compiled through the week. “I don’t know.”

“You lost weight,” Heechul insists and Yunho yelps when he feels a finger poking at his side. Heechul is looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Our concept isn’t skeletons dressed up in trashy hip hop getups.”

“We don’t have a concept, hyung.” He steps out of Heechul’s reach, arms curled protectively around himself. The bruises on his hips throb. “We don’t even know if we’ll debut.”

Hyukjae throws a damp towel at Yunho from where he’s sprawled on the floor. “ _When_. Not ‘if’. You’re gonna jinx us, jackass.”

The room sinks into uncomfortable silence, a reminder that their future hinges on uncertainties. All the trainees congregating in the room have experiences with groups tentatively forming, circulating possible members and group names, only to disintegrate before actually debuting. It’s not until he passed the audition and learnt that there are hundreds of people vying for the same, very limited opportunity that Yunho realised the world isn’t as simple as he initially thought. He flings the towel back at Hyukjae and turns back to the sound system, pushing uselessly at the dials. His throat hurts and he swallows, remembers curt comments from the vocal coach the week before.

“ _Yunho, are you even trying to improve? Or are you here to waste my fucking time?_ ”

Yunho swallows again. His throat still hurts.

During lunch break, Yunho goes to the toilet and splashes water over his face. His stomach rumbles, but he knows he can’t afford the food in the cafeteria if he wants to stay in the sauna tonight. The weather’s getting colder, the last dredges of autumn giving way to winter and sleeping on benches would get him into more trouble than he can afford. It would’ve been easier if they allow him to sleep in one of the training rooms. Gwangju is hundreds of miles away and the commute is hell, but one of the very few things he learnt from his father is that if you want something badly enough, you’ll do anything to get it.

And Yunho wants to be an idol so, so badly.  

The door swings open and he flinches in surprise, blinking back water from his lashes. The newcomer is tall and expensively-styled, ash-green hair falling into large, beautiful eyes and he heads straight for the sinks. Yunho knows him, _everyone_ in South Korea knows Shim Changmin, and he scrambles to bow at his senior. It’s a bit ridiculous, considering their location, but Yunho has always found good manners to be an adequate shield. Shim Changmin glances at him, mouth quirking into an amused grin as the tap runs. Yunho isn’t sure if he’s allowed to leave before Shim Changmin exits, so he nervously pulls out a few paper towels to dry his face. His reflection on the mirror looks so far removed from Shim Changmin’s, a world’s apart that he's embarrassed to be sharing the same space, breathing the same air. The sound of running water stops. Yunho unthinkingly offers Shim Changmin the paper towels in his hands.

The grin slants higher and Yunho flushes, thinks about running away.

Shim Changmin studies him for a few seconds. “You’re one of the trainees, right?”

Yunho stands straighter. “Y-Yes, sunbaenim! I'm Jung, Yunho!”

“You can call me 'hyung' if you want," Shim Changmin says, mildly. But Yunho doesn't dare and they both know it. Shim Changmin turns to leave, but not without adding, "I look forward to seeing you on stage soon."

 

*

 

_"I look forward to seeing you on stage soon."_

Yunho goes back to practice and dances until he can't feel his arms, his legs.

 

*

 

The man flicks open his fly and hooks his cock out, already straining and wet at the head, and Yunho watches him quietly. He fists it a few quick strokes before pushing it towards Yunho’s mouth. Once he gets his cock resting on Yunho’s tongue, he doesn’t waste time. His thrusts are quick and deep, and all Yunho has to do is keep his lips wrapped around him and take it. Short, breathy grunts echo around them and the man shoves harder, hips jerking in short, sharp rhythm.

“You like this? Yeah, you fucking do.” The man’s voice is gravel-rough, mocking. “Take it like a whore, huh. You want me to fuck you up the ass too? You’re gonna be begging for it, don’t you?”

There’s a thumb curled in the corner of his mouth, alongside the spit-slick length of cock, and the man uses his grip on Yunho’s jaw to pry his mouth wider open. He tilts Yunho’s face back until Yunho’s spine is spiking in pain and the man’s riding his face, grinding down onto him. Tears gather in Yunho’s eyes and when he blinks, a teardrop rolls languidly down his cheek. The man must’ve thought he’s crying and laughs at him.

He’s still laughing when his cock slides further down Yunho’s throat and Yunho writhes on the floor, trying to breathe.

 

*

 

Yunho stumbles out of the hotel room, vaguely registers the door snapping shut behind him as he fights the urge to retch. The taste of cum at the back of his throat makes his stomach roil and he drags the back of a hand over his lips, leans against the wall to catch his breath. The fluorescent lights overhead paint the hallway a surreal shade of too-bright, catching at the burnished gold of the wall panelling and patterns on the thick carpet underneath his worn sneakers. It’s not often that he gets called to an upscale hotel, but the experience isn’t any different from the cheaper ones. He folds the bills that were shoved at him before he was kicked out and tucks them into his back pocket, peeling himself off the wall.

He nearly runs into someone and looks up, about to apologise.

Shim Changmin stares down at him, tall and imposing and so painfully good-looking.

“Hello, trainee.”

 

*

 

**tbc**


	2. two

 

Changmin’s hotel room is just down the hall and Yunho thinks that so far as coincidences go, this is one he could’ve lived without. He follows the older man with his head lowered, fingers twisting and pulling at the hem of his shirt. His stomach clenches so hard and tight that it’s a physical pain, bones digging into his lungs so that every inhale hurts. He waits as Changmin unlocks the door with a keycard, the sound gunshot-loud in the relative silence. He chews on his bottom lip, heart in a vice grip of fear. The door is left open for him.

“Come on in.”

The hint of amusement is still there in Changmin’s voice and Yunho’s hesitance makes him stumble. A hand on his back steadies his footing and he shivers, feels like he should warn Changmin not to touch him for fear of soiling the man’s pristine reputation. The room isn’t any different from the previous one, but he’s not sure what is expected of him and where he should go. So he ends up standing in the middle of the room, suppressing the urge to fidget. That’s when the magnitude of the situation rails through him – he’s been found out.

Someone else is now privy of his dirty little secret.

Yunho’s head throbs. He doesn’t know if he should beg. There must be something in the company’s handbook that prohibits the flesh trade and he thinks about the seventeen months he’d spent travelling back and forth. Sleeping on trains and buses, woken up at odd hours by stomach growling for sustenance. That’s seventeen months of selling his mouth, his ass, any patch of skin anyone finds desirable after figuring out that his mother can’t afford the extra expenses. And it’s all about to go to waste. Yunho’s legs threaten to buckle and he looks at Changmin, tears streaking down his cheeks, unbidden.

“Sunbaenim, p-please—”

Changmin sits on the edge of the bed, long legs crossed elegantly. Yunho feels like he’s being scrutinised, like the first time he stood in front of SM’s judges. But Changmin’s eyes are sharper and he imagines being flayed open, skin peeling away from his bones. “Do you always cry when strangers bring you inside their hotel rooms?”

Yunho sobs, but manages to shake his head.

“Then stop it.”

His voice slices into Yunho’s gut and he scrambles to heed that order. It takes him a few seconds to get his breathing under control and he bites hard enough on his bottom lip that he tastes blood in the inner lining of his mouth. The last time he cried was when his grandfather died and blood tastes better on his tongue than saltwater. He knuckles at his damp eyes, wipes away any residual tear that might offend Changmin. Who continues watching him with unnerving calm. His lips are curled into an amiable, approving smile once Yunho’s eyes are dry.

“I don’t suppose you came here to meet a friend?” he continues, conversationally.

Yunho thinks about lying. “No, sunbaenim.”

Changmin’s smile widens.  “How long have you been doing this?”

There’s something deep and heavy in his voice that makes Yunho’s bones judder under his skin. He fists his hands to hide their trembling. “S-Since I started training.”

“Your parents disapprove?”

“She—my mother and I—we can’t afford…”

Yunho trails off, but it’s not an unfamiliar story. Most of the trainees are struggling in their own ways. He knows that Changmin is one of those privileged few – a Seoul native, with supportive, upper middle-class parents. He’d watched the special documentary they made about him upon his debut. Yunho keeps his head bowed and counts the seconds that crawl past, eyes burning with the effort to keep his tears at bay. He doesn’t know the purpose of this interrogation, because the Changmin he’d seen on television is kind and witty, always so articulate. Intelligent.

“Come here.”

Yunho lifts his head and starts forward, but stops when he catches Changmin’s eyes.

“On your knees.”

The order is said with such ease that Yunho instinctively drops, hitting the plush carpet with a quiet thud. His knees protest, but Yunho slams his mouth shut as he shuffles towards Changmin. Heat rises to his cheeks and the back of his neck, hyperaware of what he must look like. A scrawny kid, dishevelled hair and dressed in too-tight clothes. Dragging himself across the floor of an expensive hotel room. He hesitates once he gets close, but Changmin uncrosses his legs and crooks a finger.

Blood pounding in his ears, Yunho moves deeper into the vee of those legs.

A hand curve around Yunho’s throat like it belongs there, jugular pressed against the thin webbing of skin where thumb sweeps into finger. He’s forced to look up, spine straightening. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he lets them dangle uselessly at his side. Closer, Changmin is even more strikingly handsome. His features are sharp, high cheekbones and full lips. Flawless skin.    

“How old are you?”

Yunho swallows. He feels the skin of his neck pressing against Changmin’s palm and flushes. “Sixteen.”

“Are you any good?”

“W-What?”

Changmin’s grip tightens, just ever so slightly. “At sucking cock. Are you any good? You’ve had a lot of practice, right?”

“I—” Tears are threatening to spill again and Yunho blinks them back, desperate to follow orders. “Yes, sunbaenim.”

“Good.” Changmin’s eyes go mismatched when he grins. “I want you to get me off.”

Everything inside Yunho’s head screeches to a spike of panic. The only reason he’s anchored in place is because of the hand around his throat, when his instinct tells him to run. “B-but—”

Changmin leans forward, stopping when he’s inches away from Yunho’s upturned face.

“I don’t think you quite understand your situation right now,” he says, voice going deathly calm. He thrusts a thumb into Yunho’s mouth, pressing down at the centre of his tongue. “It’s very easy to get you kicked out of the company—” he presses even harder, mindless of saliva gathering around his thumb. Yunho whimpers, squeezing his eyes close. “—once they find out what you’re doing on the side.”

Changmin pulls the thumb out and swipes it over Yunho’s lips.

“But we don’t want that, do we?”

Yunho shakes his head.

“Glad to know we’re on the same page.” He pats Yunho’s head, like he hadn’t just threatened a death sentence to everything Yunho has worked for. His thighs spread even wider and Yunho’s eyes skitter to the bulge pressing against the front of his pants. “Come on, then. Watch the teeth.”

Yunho reaches for Changmin’s belt with shaking hands, thin leather as expensive as the rest of his outfit. The pleased hum he gets in return sparks a low heat in his belly and he presses closer, fumbling with the interior button. Changmin raises his hips so that Yunho can get his pants and briefs down, and he swallows back the sudden dryness in his mouth. Changmin is bigger than what he’s used to and he thinks about the logistics of fitting all of that meat into his mouth, of being fucked open by that same cock.

He doesn’t get to wonder for long, because Changmin makes an impatient noise and he lowers his face into the crux between Changmin’s thighs, parts his lips to suckle at the head. Changmin presses his cock down on the flat of Yunho’s tongue, pushing the wetness gathered at the head into Yunho’s mouth until Yunho can taste him with every inhale. Changmin plants a hand in Yunho’s hair, winding his fingers around dark strands and pulling at them encouragingly. His other is stroking the bump in Yunho’s cheek where his mouth is full of Changmin’s cock, lips stretched too wide around him.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he purrs, approval dripping from the syllables. Yunho’s throat flutters, swallowing slick bursts of salty precome. “You love this, don’t you? Stuffed full of dick?”

Yunho wants to reel back, wants to run out of the room. All the way back to Gwangju.

He sucks harder on Changmin’s cock instead.

Changmin’s throaty laughter is warm and he shoves the full length of his cock in and in and in. He’s so hard between Yunho’s lips and his hand twists in Yunho’s hair, keeping him in place as he fucks into Yunho’s mouth. It’s unhurried, slow and thorough. Yunho rests his hands on Changmin’s thighs to steady himself, feels corded muscles strain and flex under his fingers. There are fingers digging into the curve of his neck, just above the first vertebrae, and the pain distracts him briefly from how much his jaw ache, how he currently has the fat cock of Shim Changmin, SM’s golden boy, sliding in and out of his mouth.

Yunho presses a palm against his own half-hard cock, chafing the denim of his jeans.

When Changmin comes, he does so with a quiet, suppressed grunt. He fills Yunho’s mouth so much that some leaks out of the corners, dribbling down his chin and would’ve splattered the carpet underneath if not for Yunho’s hands catching the thick, sticky globs. He struggles to swallow everything once Changmin slides his cock out and it leaves him feeling messy and filthy, mortification heating up his skin.

And because he has nothing more to lose, he sits back on his heels and waits.   

“Jung Yunho, right?” Even with his softening cock out in the open, pillowed in dark curls, Changmin looks nothing less than untouchable. Still so beautiful. Yunho cranes his neck, catching a glimpse of a sharp smirk and white teeth. “Let's make a deal.”

 

*

 

**tbc**


	3. three

 

Yunho’s used to being fucked, held down and manhandled by something external, and he’d learnt to shove down the panic and urge to throw up. He’ll end up in the bathroom, scrubbing dried come and lube from between his thighs, his hands trembling as he tries to drown himself with water from the sink. And then he’d be on his way, a few more bills tucked securely in his pocket to ensure survival for another day. Sometimes, when he lifted up his shirt, he would see bruises, purple and black like smears of make-up on his pale skin. He’s more careful now – the company weighs them every month and it’s not easy to lie about why he’s painted in macabre colours. Why there are fingerprints carved into his skin, exclamation points among the mottled bruises.

What he isn’t used to is waking up on a bed that isn’t his.

Panic jumpstarts him awake. His heart bangs against is ribs as he tries to wrap his head around what had happened, before he remembers where he is. And why he’s there. He draws a rattling breath to calm himself down and stares at the bedside clock. _06.24._ He’s expected at training in two hours. He still needs to shower, take a bus downtown and maybe grab some bread because the last time he ate was before he got to this hotel. Yunho closes his eyes and swallows the dryness in his throat; he thinks he can still taste Changmin there. He didn’t question him when he was told to shower and stay for the night, given a bathrobe once his clothes were pronounced too filthy for bed.

It’s better than sleeping in the sauna. Or the streets.

He didn’t even notice when he fell asleep, must’ve been more exhausted than he thought.

Turning his face to the other side, Yunho promptly freezes when he sees Changmin.

The older man is still asleep, spread out on his back. One of his legs is propped over Yunho’s thigh and the weight pins Yunho in place, afraid to jostle Changmin if he were to make any move. In the dark, the sharp angles of his face are softer and he looks younger. Less intimidating. Yunho tries to remember his actual age, but the numbers slip through his fingers when Changmin’s alarm goes off from the other side of the bed. Yunho ceases breathing as Changmin stirs, an arm reaching out towards the offending noise. His lungs ache, but fear keeps him still.

Once the leg is no longer weighing him down, Yunho scrambles out of the bed and stands awkwardly beside it.

The bathrobe falls open around him, the knot going traitorously undone sometime during the night. He’s aware of his nakedness underneath, but Changmin is looking at him with half-lidded eyes from the middle of the bed and it’s much too late to do anything about it.

“You have to leave before my manager gets here,” Changmin says after a few seconds, the last of the syllables opens out into a series of yawns that roll into each other. He stretches, long lines arching over the rumpled bedsheet, before settling back with a groan. He catches Yunho’s eyes and smiles, languid and sleep-lazy. Yunho, still unsure of what’s expected of him, hesitantly smiles back, which seems to be the right thing to do as Changmin’s smile broadens. A finger crooks. “Come.” 

Still wishing he can tie the bathrobe close, Yunho climbs into the bed and starts crawling on all four.

He doesn’t resist when Changmin plants a hand on his head and guides him down down _down_ , to where the front of his sweatpants is tented right up.

 

*

 

Yunho notices the muted click from somewhere beyond his the jackrabbit hammering of his heart and looks up with lips still wrapped around Changmin’s fat, hard cock.

Another click goes off.

Changmin has his phone angled towards Yunho, a self-satisfied smirk cutting a slanted line across his face. He’s taking pictures, more than a few, and Yunho’s stomach clenches tightly at the implication. It’s nothing short of a punch to the solar plexus. Everything that he’d done and everything that he’s lost along the way, balanced precariously in someone else’s hand. There’s the urge to sob and scream and beg, but Yunho knows it wouldn’t work. It would mean nothing to someone like Changmin. His heart hurts in his chest from beating too hard; his ribs vibrate with the echo.

“Don’t worry.” Changmin’s peering at him over the top of his phone, expression almost fond. His eyes are liquid gold in the velveteen dark and it feels too much like being looked upon by something that can take him apart just for fun. He pets Yunho’s head for a few seconds, before nudging him into moving again. “You look very pretty.”

 

*

 

Yunho is late for practice.

He’s never late for practice, so he panics and apologises profusely to his vocal trainer, who stares him down like he’s something she’d found at the bottom of her shoe. She tells him to go through warm-up quickly and spends the better part of their hour smacking his stomach with a flat, wooden ruler as he wobbles through the notes. He hates the way his voice quivers, almost shrivels in mouth before he forces it out. How he can never get the transition to be as smooth and ends up with an ugly approximation of something melodic. At the end of the lesson, he’s breathless and she’s telling him he’s not improving as much as he should. That he’s better off as the rapper of any group unfortunate enough to get him, and even at that, he’s nothing more than mediocre.

She asks if he really wants to debut because obviously he’s not working hard enough.

He nods at every single one of her harsh criticism. Accepts the extra work assigned with a loud ‘ _thank you_ ’ and feels air rushing into his lungs once he’s dismissed.

Yunho escapes to the bathroom and throws up in one of the stalls.

The taste of vomit is sour and acrid, and he drags the back of a hand shakily over his mouth. He’d only thrown up fluid, didn’t get the chance to grab anything before coming in. Yunho hobbles to the sink to wash his face, staring at the hollow-eyed boy peering out at him from the other side of the mirror. There are still faint bruises from where Changmin had dug fingers into his jaw. He scrubs at them, desperate to erase any reminder, but he doesn’t get very far before Heechul bangs the door open. Yunho stares at him, and he stares right back. Eyes moving to the bruises, lips slowly pressing into a thin line.

“We’re gonna start in five,” Heechul says, voice jarring in the quiet. He has his back to the door, blocking the way in. And out. His eyes are accusatory and maybe a little sad. “You okay?”

Yunho turns back to the sink, dunks his hands underneath the running tap. He feels stripped raw. “Yes, hyung.”

He’s been saying a lot of ‘ _yes_ ’s lately, Yunho thinks. And not for all the right reasons.

“Are you sure?” Heechul asks again, but this time, the inflection is elsewhere. Like he’s trying to figure out where to pry, but with minimal damage. Heechul is a wrecking ball at the best of times, so Yunho appreciates the effort.

He dries his hands and face and straightens. He tries for a grin and it looks mostly alright.

“Of course.”

 

*

 

_“Of course, I expect you not to take on—customers after this.”_

_Yunho works his mouth wet. He still tastes Changmin, the sensation sitting on him. Sick and wrong. “Yes, sunbaenim.”_

_“Where’s your phone?” Changmin’s wide lips quirk at the battered, old-fashioned phone Yunho hands over. Yunho doesn’t tell him that it used to belong to his father, the only difference being the sim number. Changmin presses at the keypad, before tossing it back to Yunho. “There. I’ll call you.”_

_“Yes, sunbaenim.”_

_Changmin’s eyes gleam, amused. There’s also a sharpness lurking, serrated. “Are you always this obedient?”_

_Yunho clenches his teeth hard. He keeps the screams there._

 

*

 

The flatscreen is showing one of the music programs, probably Inkigayo, and Yunho vaguely hears Heechul asking the girl at the counter if they still have some leftover from the breakfast selection. The MCs are reading out from the cue cards, laughing between themselves, while the crowd cheers. Yunho stares at them with the kind of yearning that borders on actual hunger, wonders when he would get the chance to be in their place. Or maybe he shouldn’t, considering he tends to slip into satoori when he’s nervous. The stage is huge when the camera pans to it: multiple lights glancing off shards of glass, soft pink and red and purple.

And right in the middle of it stands Shim Changmin.

He’s promoting right now, Yunho had almost forgotten. The midnight blue suit fits him like a second skin and he moves as if subject to different laws of human anatomy, each gesture graceful. Expressive. The song is a power ballad from his latest album, but the volume is turned down so Yunho has to imagine Changmin’s voice soaring above the music and hitting each note perfectly. Climbing higher and higher, beautiful face tilted to catch the sudden cascade of golden light at the end of the chorus. Yunho imagines the rapturous joy from the crowd.

It leaves him with the numb recognition of his own failures.

Of his own minuscule, insignificant existence.

 

*

 

The bus station is quieter in the dead of night and Yunho sits on a bench outside, huddled in his sweater. He’d bought his ticket and smiled politely at the tteokbokki auntie near the entrance when he walked past her. There’s usually time for a chat, but his head hurts today and he’d rather be left alone. He worries over a rip on the knee of his jeans while he stares sightlessly at the point where the road touches the sky, thinks about how he’s going to pay for food and exam fees and endless bus tickets if he’s no longer allowed to sell himself. He still needs to send money over to the aunt who’s taking care of Jihye, more out of necessity than courtesy. The world isn’t cheap. 

Yunho drops his head between his knees, eyes blurred with tears as his breath rushes out of him, leaving him wet and shivering inside.

“Here.”

Something warm presses against his cheek and he jerks in surprise, looking up to see the tteokbokki auntie looming over him. She’s frowning down at him, but her eyes are kind. And she’s holding out a styrofoam bowl of rice cakes, smothered in sauce.

His stomach grumbles, reminds him it’s been hours since the half-roll of gimbap Heechul had shoved down his throat. “I can’t pay—”

“It’s okay; my treat,” she says breezily. She nudges the bowl at him again until he wraps his fingers around it, warmth travelling through his fingertips and settling under his skin. Her face is smooth, except for the deepening wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and before she departs back to her little corner, she says, “Life is hard, but it’ll get better. You just see.”

Yunho ducks his head and curls around the warm bowl, breath hitching into sobs. 

 

*

 

**tbc**


	4. four

 

In the distance, the clouds are thick and black. Yunho’s curled up on the couch, trying to read for a test later that week but his mind has wandered off on its own. He thinks about Jihye, if she’s grown taller and if she still remembers him. It’s been six months since he last saw her and he aches to gather her in his arms, but visiting means spending money he doesn’t really have. Thunder growls from far away and he’s forced to abandon the couch, to take in the laundry from the balcony. The first flecks of rain touch his face and he moves quicker, locks the sliding door behind him. He spends the afternoon folding shirts and pants and dresses, because his mother had returned sometime during the weekend. The hamper was full, but she’s no longer around when he got back. The storm that comes after leaves him trapped inside, watching the rain batters at the window.

Yunho lies on the floor, surrounded by a pile of half-folded clothes, and thinks about Jihye’s small hands.

He goes to school and maybe passes the test (the glance from his teacher after she’d collected his paper is only a tiny bit disappointed). His dance crew drags him out, old faces and new, but still so exuberant. The house isn’t empty for long. His mother appears on Tuesday and they have dinner together, sitting at opposite sides of the table. New wrinkles crowd around her mouth, in the corners of her eyes and he doesn’t miss the callouses on her hands. She asks him about schoolwork, but nothing about his training. He knows she’s been smoking again – her voice cracks and splinters around the syllables, and she’s too stubborn to stop for long. Despite what the doctors had told her. Yunho checks her bag when she’s showering, just to make sure she’s still taking her medicines.

The tubes are cloistered together underneath yellowing receipts, almost full.

 

*

 

His saving is running out. Yunho counts the bills several times, thumb rubbing at the numbers as if he can change them. He doesn’t bother upending the bottle of coins under the bed. The end result would still be the same.

It’s nowhere near enough.

Eight messages sit in his inbox, three from numbers that are vaguely familiar. He deletes them and switches off the phone.

 

*

 

There’s a brief respite from the mess inside his head when Hojun visits Gwangju, on a break in between filming. His hair is shorter, back to black after a brief rust red stint and he’s a lot more tanned. He tells Yunho that his next drama is coming out next summer and how he might get called up for a movie. A small role, but the director seems to like him from the first meeting. By the time they arrive at their favourite barbeque restaurant, Yunho’s mood has picked up and he laughs when Hojun shares stories about his colleagues, about the pranks they pulled on set. Soon, there’s meat on the grill, surrounded by kimchi and beansprouts. Yunho flips the pieces every few seconds, worried that he might overcook them.

“How’s training?”

Yunho nods, refilling their glasses before going back to poking at the meat. “They’re talking about debuting a group next year, so that might be my best chance right now.”

“You’re gonna make it soon,” Hojun says, grinning. Yunho basks in that warmth, feels thirteen all over again, with a crush on a boy two years his senior. The feeling doesn’t last, because Hojun’s voice takes on a concerned edge. He grabs Yunho’s wrist and frowns at whatever he finds there. “Are you eating right? You’re still growing, Yun-ah. Dieting too much’s not good for you.”

Yunho laughs, but he can feel panic scratching at his spine. A bone or two shifts under Hojun’s hand and he fights to keep his face straight when he says, “Don’t worry, hyung. I’ll be taller than you in a couple months.”

Hojun’s concern shifts to exasperation. He lets Yunho go after half a heartbeat, but Yunho can still feel the imprint of fingers bruising his skin. It lingers there, like a handcuff, even long after Hojun had dropped him off at home and disappeared down the road.

 

*

 

There’s something wrong with him, somewhere inside. Yunho can breathe through the pain, but it’s a constant presence and he struggles to suck enough air into his lungs when their dance instructor tells them to start all over again. They’ve been going at this choreography for half a day, the promise of a break getting further and further away. Heechul curses softly at his side, drenched in sweat, and Yunho grins at him. Pats his back, offering encouragement. Hyukjae is already moving to the beat, always one step ahead when it comes to dancing. Yunho catches up to him once he’s made sure Heechul wouldn’t collapse, determined to prove himself as good, if not better. Everything’s a competition when you’re a trainee and he knows he’s not handsome enough, pretty enough, funny enough, talented enough, intelligent enough to turn heads.

The only thing he has is the inability to give up.

They break for lunch after too-long hours and their bodies stick to the floor as a collective. Yunho has more vocal training in the afternoon and his stomach churns with the knowledge that he’s about to be sliced open again, can feel his throat constricting at the thought. He didn’t have time to go through all the exercises she’d given and it would show. She would know. And she would look at him with disappointment, with annoyance ( _you’re wasting my time again, why are you still here_ ) and he’s getting tired of apologising. It’s not as if he’d ever have Ryeowook’s voice. Or Jongwoon’s range. Yunho staggers to his bag and plops down, hand searching for his water bottle. His fingers close around the bulk of his phone instead.

Yunho slips it out to find a new text message.

The hotel’s the same, but it’s a different room number. A higher floor. His mouth tastes metallic as he grips the phone, thumb pressing at the screen.

 

*

 

The door’s locked when Yunho arrives.

Yunho tentatively knocks on the polished wood. There isn’t any response. A lady with a housekeeping trolley rolls past him and he’s conscious of the way her eyes travel over him, distaste curling her red lips downwards. It’s not hard to figure out why someone like him would be lingering around the hallway of a hotel. She gets into a room three doors down and he breathes a sigh of relief, sliding down the wall to sit against it. Legs pulled to his chest and forehead resting on the worn knees of his jeans, he exhales shakily. His entire body throbs, exhaustion carved deep into his marrows and he wonders if they’ll kick him out if he waits long enough.

He must’ve nodded off because the next thing he knows, he’s jerked awake by a hard nudge on his shoulder. Yunho nearly yelps, but bites it back in time.

Changmin is looking down at him, an eyebrow raised and mouth hidden behind a mask. Yunho can still see the outline of his lips. “Aren’t you early?”

“E-Early?”

Changmin sidesteps him to unlock the door. Yunho scrambles to his feet to follow the older man inside. His legs are cramping, the pain making it easier to concentrate on Changmin’s words. “I told you to come after eleven.”

“But you didn’t—” Yunho licks his lips, wetting them. His stomach clenches. “You didn’t say—”

Changmin drapes his coat over the back of a chair. His eyes flicker to Yunho, before those broad shoulders lift to a shrug. Dismissive, as if it’s Yunho’s fault for waiting in front of an empty hotel room for nearly five hours. He strips down to his black briefs, muscles rippling with each movement, and Yunho shifts his weight from one foot to another, cheeks heating up. Changmin is watching him with that same amused smile he wore the first night he saw Yunho.  

“I’m going to shower and you—” He tosses a small bottle of lube at Yunho. “—Get yourself ready by the time I come back.” His eyes hold a brutal light of hunger, and Yunho’s breath is punched right out of his lungs. “Or I can fuck you dry, I don’t care.”

Yunho watches Changmin disappear into the bathroom and he peels off his sweater, his jeans. He remembers the fat girth of Changmin’s cock, tries to figure out how many fingers and how long he’ll need. Yunho doesn’t dare to get onto the bed without permission so he braces himself against the edge of the mattress, spreading his legs wide. The sound of running water is enough distraction and he closes his eyes when he sinks two slick fingers at once. He works himself open as quickly as he can, shaking with the effort to not think about what he’s preparing for.

The water stops running, too soon. Yunho winces and straightens, feels the slippery slide of lube running down the back of his thighs and thinks about the housekeeping lady, with her red lips and disapproving eyes.

Changmin walks out the bathroom and drops the towel in favour of stalking towards Yunho, still glistening wet. He uses his bulk to shove him back into the bed, on knees and elbows. There’s a rip of condom packet and then he’s pushing into Yunho, one of his hands planted on the mattress and the other pressed between Yunho’s shoulder blades. It keeps him pinned to the bed and his ass canted up. Yunho’s skin is hot and flushed and he wants to hide his face because his eyes are watering, tears rolling down his cheeks. The burn of Changmin’s cock fills him up and splits him into two and Yunho chokes for breath because _it hurts_ , but Changmin kisses his trembling shoulders as if that would make everything better.

He stops moving for a second, his cock so deep and hard, so _there_ , that Yunho figures he can touch his back and _feel_ Changmin.

“You’re tight,” he says, as if surprised. Yunho shudders. The low rumble of Changmin’s laughter cuts through his body as he begins moving, each harsh thrust making Yunho’s spine ripple. “Thought you’d feel more used.”

Yunho shoves his face into the pillow, mouth cinched shut to keep all the screams inside.

 

*

 

The bathroom is too bright. Yunho grimaces at the lights and limps to the counter, avoiding the mirror so he doesn’t have to see if he looks as wrecked as he feels. The only thing keeping him upright is the knowledge that he’s not supposed to be taking too long, doesn’t think that someone like Changmin likes to be kept waiting. There are small bottles of gels and shampoos sitting in a tidy, straight row on the marbled counter top, right next to some towels, and it’s when he tries to grab one of them that his knees buckle. Dark spots crowd his vision as he pitches forward, blotting out everything else.

 

*

 

**tbc**


	5. five

 

_“It’s easy money.”_

_Yunho eyes Seongsok, before looking away. Rain continues to fall around them, washing out the rest of the world and he wonders if his mother is still out there somewhere. “I’ve never— done it.”_

_“Seriously? Not even with girls?”_

_Yunho shakes his head._

_Seongsok snorts and laughs. It sounds hollow, almost pained. “You’re a piece of work, Jung.”_

_The offer letter from SM Entertainment is tucked into his pocket, his lifelong dream almost within reach. The scout was impressed by his dancing, but they wanted to see more. They said the training period is the most important part of becoming an idol and it’ll take years until he’s ready. While he doesn’t have to pay for the privilege of being a trainee under one of the three biggest entertainment companies in the country, he’ll have to pay for everything else._

_He hasn’t told his mother. Doesn’t think she cares either way._

_“You’ll get used to it,” Seongsok says. The words are coolly spoken, bitten off precisely. Like he’s had practice saying them. Seongsok’s a year older, comes from a family that’s worse-off than Yunho. Despite still being in school, he’s never short of money, always generous with the younger members of the crew. When Yunho decided to ask him for advice, he hadn’t expected Seongsok’s answer. “These dudes just wanna get off. They don’t give a fuck if you’re legal or not. Some of them even pay extra for special favours. S’long as you steer clear from the nasty ones, you’ll be fine. I’ll look out for you.”_

_Yunho drags a thumb over his knuckles, nail catching at an old scar. He thinks about the distance between Gwangju and Seoul. He thinks about Jihye. “How—” Thunder rumbles above them and the rain falls harder. Yunho’s thumb digs into the small bones of his wrist. “How do I start?”_

*

 

Yunho wakes to find himself in bed. He lies there on the soft cotton sheets for a long moment, trying to understand what had happened. The last thing he remembers is stepping inside the bathroom, intending to be quick. He remembers the marbled tiles, too-bright fluorescent and feeling lightheaded. Of darkness, pulling a veil over his eyes. There’s a dull ache at the back of his head now, lingering like an old wound, and he wonders how long he’s been out. The effort to fill in that blank stretch of time makes him wince, the ache sharpening as he curls around the pain.

He stiffens when he finally sees Changmin. Sitting against the headboard, the angles of his face lit up by the light from the screen of his phone. He stops scrolling the moment he notices Yunho’s awake.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he says, voice dry. Yunho can’t quite tell if the older man’s upset. Or angry. The half-dark gives nothing away. “I was about to call the funeral service.”

Yunho tries to get on his elbows, maybe straighten properly to apologise to Changmin, but his head hurts and his eyes swim and it’s a struggle to keep the pain from spilling past his lips. Realisation that he might’ve fucked this up leaves him cold, sick inside. He feels stripped raw and the feedback of his own fears ( _getting kicked out of the company, not being able to support Jihye, becoming a failure, being left alone abandoned all alone unwanted_ ) slams right back at him. He tries harder and slips out of bed, onto his knees.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t dare look at Changmin. The t-shirt he’s wearing is several sizes too big and the hem rests halfway across his thighs. It’s not his. “I- I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up and get back here.”

Changmin’s voice is razor-sharp, one that expects to be obeyed and Yunho does. His fingers curl in his palms, the bite of his nails forcing him to keep steady as he chokes back a wet lump in his throat. His ribs feel too small to hold his lungs and they bruise as he waits. He feels Changmin moving, getting off the bed and making his way to Yunho’s side. He’s still rattled, over-sensitive, like he’d lost a layer of skin and waiting for Changmin to strip another layer off.

The hands startle him. They’re not gentle, but not rough either. Yunho shivers as Changmin stands over him, hands cradling his face and tilting his chin upwards. He concentrates on the ceiling and tries to not let his eyes linger on Changmin’s face, on the furrow between his eyebrows. Fingers prod at the base of his neck, crawling over his scalp. Yunho jolts when they find a raised bump, fresh pain lancing through his head, and he tries to jerk away from Changmin. Who lets him, an arched eyebrow punctuating the gesture.

“You didn’t crack your head open, so that’s good.” Something unknots inside Yunho’s stomach. It feels like his heart is slowing down a beat, muscles loosening from being too wound up. Changmin isn’t angry and that’s enough for Yunho. “Go to the hospital tomorrow. Get it checked, just in case.”

Yunho nods, doesn’t tell Changmin that he can’t afford medical bills on top of the expenses he’s already accumulating. “O-Okay. Thank you, sunbaenim.”

Changmin makes a noise at the back of his throat, and Yunho can’t help a nervous shudder.

“Hyung. I told you to call me ‘hyung’.”

_Oh_. “Yes, h-hyung.”

It rolls off his tongue awkwardly, all unfamiliar syllables, and they taste bitter when he swallows them whole. Changmin strips his shirt off and Yunho watches him, still sitting on the bed because he hasn’t been given the permission to move. The bed lurches when Changmin gets into it and he drags Yunho to him, fitting his bigger body around Yunho until Yunho’s swallowed up by him, covered by solid muscles. Changmin’s fingertips dig into him, so hard that Yunho thinks Changmin’s searching for bones to get a hold of.

It’s not like Yunho can escape, even if he wants to.

“You’re mine now.” Changmin’s breath is hot and it brushes the back of Yunho’s neck, making the skin there prickle. “And I expect you to take care of my property. I don’t have time for broken things.”

Yunho bites his lip so hard it bleeds.

 

*

 

It’s easier the second time around.

Yunho drifts into consciousness and curls about the pillow on the bed, the blankets still rumpled. Bars of sunshine paint their way over his skin, warming him up. He should know better than to watch Changmin work out. But he is, can’t look away and Changmin has since moved from stomach crunches to push ups. His gaze traces the slightly sweat-damp line of the older man’s spine, catches at the arch of his neck as Changmin’s body rises and falls. The muscles of his arms flex beneath the skin, hinting at the same power that’s tautening his thighs and calves.

Yunho thinks about the ease in which Changmin had manhandled him, how hard he was fucked the night before. His back twinges and the places where Changmin had sunk his nails throb in reminder. The soreness is an afterthought, almost pleasant once the harder edges of pain had smoothed out. He starts to wonder how it would feel if Changmin were to be gentler, but stops himself before he can chase that thought down the rabbit hole. It’s the kind of thought Yunho isn’t sure he wants to examine. He’s still whoring himself out, only now for a different reason and Changmin isn’t any different from the countless men who’d fucked him in anonymous hotel rooms.

Maybe worse, since he’s not shelling out a single dime.

Changmin pauses after his fifth repetition and catches Yunho watching. A slow smirk cuts across his face.

Yunho shrinks back. Heat creeps to his cheeks.

Changmin’s eyes glint like shards of glass. He crooks a finger, pulling at the invisible leash around Yunho’s neck.

Yunho slides out of bed, expecting punishment, and his heart hammers against his ribcage as he crosses the room. The distance between them narrows when Changmin steps in closer, close enough that Yunho can hear the rhythm of his breathing, sees the sheen of sweat on his pectorals and the flecks of colour in his eyes. A thrill of something that’s not entirely made of fear or pain makes Yunho shiver as Changmin reaches out, grips Yunho’s jaw between his thumb and forefinger. Every muscle in Yunho’s body goes taut. With apprehension or anticipation, he can’t quite tell. What he does is to follow quietly as Changmin nudges his face towards the ceiling-to-floor window.

“Great view, isn’t it?” The curtain’s thrown open to the sight of warm sunshine stretching the cyan sky out wide, glinting off countless skyscrapers around the hotel. Changmin’s thumb strokes a path from Yunho’s jaw to his throat, his other hand rucking up the shirt to find more skin. “I just thought of a way to make it better.”

Yunho lets slip a wet gasp when he’s pushed, face-first, against the window. The shirt is tossed to the side. Changmin gets him ready with just spit and some careless fingering, before lining up. Sinks into him with a grunt, a hitched huff of laughter. The pain of being fucked almost dry nearly made Yunho wail, but he holds it down and clenches his teeth so hard it feels like they’re soldered together. His stuttering breath fogs up the glass, nipples rubbed sore as he skids up and down against the smooth surface, sweat easing the way. Changmin holds him up, chest to back, hands braced on either side of Yunho’s head.

One of them peels off the glass and grabs a handful of Yunho’s hair, dragging his head back.

Changmin mouths at his neck, his ear.

“They can see you, y’know. If they look out, they can see how hard you’re getting fucked right now.”

Yunho makes a high, pained noise at that and seizes up, and Changmin’s low, throaty laughter makes the blood in his veins ripple. He tries to struggle, but he can’t get any leverage and the cock inside his ass doesn’t relent. His fingers scrabble uselessly over the glass, leaving sweat-sticky smears in lieu of screams. Changmin slides in deeper, slowing down to a languid pace as he continues his litany of filth. The gravel in his voice sends searing heat licking up Yunho’s spine.

“You like that, don’t you? Being put on display? You’re so fucking hungry for it, you just let me in.”

Yunho sobs, rolling up onto his tiptoes and teeters there after a particularly vicious thrust. His hardening cock scrapes against the window and that’s more humiliation than Yunho can handle. It means Changmin’s right, if he’s getting off on this. He tries to adjust his bearing, shying away from any kind of friction. Desperately trying to remind himself that _this isn’t supposed to feel good_.

He keens when Changmin’s fingers curl around his cock, vice-tight. Knowing. The crooning voice turns almost fond.

“ _Slut_.”

 

*

 

Room service arrives when Yunho is in the shower. The breakfast spread is extensive; pastries and eggs and fruits, a carafe of coffee steaming gently on its hotplate. Changmin’s chewing up a croissant smothered in peanut butter as he scrolls through his phone, occasionally tapping out replies to something. Yunho changes into his own clothes, hesitates on what he’s supposed to do with the too-large t-shirt. And if he’s allowed to leave, because he still has training and he’s going to have to run if he wants to catch the earlier bus.

Changmin glances up from the phone to where Yunho’s fidgeting by the dresser. “What?”

“Hyung, t-this—” Yunho gestures at the shirt, unwashed but folded.

“Keep it.” His eyes flicker back to the screen, doesn’t even register Yunho’s surprise. It’s a few seconds until he turns his attention back to him, brows furrowing. “Why are you just standing there?”

Recognising it as a dismissal, Yunho bows stiffly and moves towards the door. His gait is awkward, clumsy, as if someone had switched his ankles over without warning him. His entire body aches, fresh bruises colouring over older ones and he would have to think of better excuses if someone sees them. Someone like Heechul, who knows Yunho’s lying from the first syllable. Just another thing that would screw him over. Before he can reach the door though, Changmin’s voice stops him in his track.

“Yunho.” The older man looks amused. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Yunho tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack. “— Training?”

Changmin arches an eyebrow and nods pointedly at the cluster of food on the table. “And who’s supposed to eat all these?”

He feels like a deer, caught in the headlight of a sixteen wheeler.

Changmin must’ve decided that he’d given Yunho enough leeway, because he starts buttering another croissant. But not before adding, “If you don’t start eating in five seconds, this will be the last time I’m offering food.”

Yunho almost trips over the rug in the middle of the room in his haste to get to Changmin.

 

*

 

There’s a baggie of cinnamon rolls sitting in his backpack as the bus hurtles down the street. Yunho closes his eyes and tilts his face to catch the sun, heart lighter than it’s been for a while.

He starts humming a song only to realise that it’s one of Changmin’s.  

 

*

 

**tbc**

 

*

 

hit your girl up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/voracyous). :)


	6. six

 

The training room is hot and noisy, raucous chatters bouncing off white-washed walls as trainees warm up for their dance practice. Yunho arrives in time to catch Heechul by the door, who jumps onto his back and demands a ride to the middle of the room. Yunho collapses when Donghae decides to join in and lies underneath the tangled limbs of his friends, laughing until he’s out of breath. They scramble off each other when the choreographer walks in to start on a new set and Yunho sinks into the pull of music and coordinated movement as easy as breathing.

His good mood lasts well until lunch break, mouth pleasantly sticky from the last of the cinnamon rolls, and he’s sniggering at a joke Hyukjae had cracked when he hears someone says,

“Sunbaenim!”

It’s almost automatic, a reflex hammered into each of their head, to fold into a bow. Yunho does so without checking who the seniors are, but when he straightens, his breath hitches as he finds himself straight at Changmin. Who is dressed in a hoodie and sweats, a baseball cap casting shadow over the upper half of his face. He looks beautiful, even without make up, and he holds himself with an effortless grace that rings in direct contrast to the kind of harshness Yunho knows he’s capable of. The bruises on his hips throb in reminder. Changmin is smiling benignly as he greets the trainees, picture-perfect.

Yunho wonders what he’s doing here.

If they’re supposed to play pretend, like they’re strangers. Like Changmin didn’t have his cock inside Yunho for the better part of that very morning.  

Trying very hard to hang onto the frayed threads of his composure, Yunho listens to Heechul’s grumbling and nods at appropriate places. There’s a tone about Heechul’s voice, an underlying softness that always calms him. Used to always calm him. Changmin is still standing at the entrance of the practice room, talking to the choreographer, and Yunho can feel the weight of Changmin’s stare crawling over his skin. He swallows, flicks his tongue backwards and forwards over the cracked tooth at the back of his mouth, tracing the break there. He’s vaguely aware of Heechul’s arm slinging around his shoulder.

“—look pale. You okay?”

“Yeah!” He forces out the word past the sudden dryness of his throat. “Something wrong?”

Heechul rolls his shoulders, pushing sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. “If they’re gonna kiss golden boy’s ass, might as well give us a break. I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

Yunho giggles, bumping Heechul’s shoulder. “C’mon! We’ve barely even started!”

“Yah, Jung Yunho! Not everyone has horse-like stamina like you! I’m a delicate flower, I'll have you know!”

He’s too busy laughing to notice Changmin leaving.

 

*

 

The choreographer stops Yunho on his way out. “Can you take a few days off from school for the next two weeks?”

“I think so.” He hesitates, unsure if he’s allowed to ask. “Why—”

“There’s a tribute performance for MBC’s anniversary and they’re gonna need extra dancers. I recommended you and Hyukjae.” At the slack-jawed disbelief he gets in return, the choreographer laughs and thumps Yunho’s back. “Do well, kid.”

“T-Thank you! I will!”

 

*

 

The pillow is a plump, cream satin and it smells floral, faintly. Yunho tries to concentrate on its velvety softness as he sinks half of his face into it, concentrating on anything else but the weight of Changmin’s hand pushing down on his shoulder blades.

“Heard you’re gonna be one of my backup dancers.” Changmin’s voice is a rasp, like the crunch of snow on stones. He punctuates the statement with a sharp slap to Yunho’s ass, stinging the reddened skin. Yunho knows he’ll find bruises there come morning. “Isn’t that _fun_?”

The damp head of Changmin’s cock bumps against him, smearing slippery precome over the creases of his thighs and down the cleft of his spread ass. The hand on his back slides to his neck, pushing him down and forcing his ass higher. A sob catches in Yunho’s throat and he can’t breathe for a second, not with the older man on his back and his ass aching from being fucked over and over and over again. Changmin flips him over and Yunho wants so, so badly to curl into himself, but he knows he isn’t supposed to.

Inside this hotel room, he’s Changmin’s property.

And property doesn’t get to say ‘no’.

Changmin’s fingers settle on Yunho’s chest, finding a nipple and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Yunho can’t help his high whine when Changmin pinches him, hard. Changmin’s laughter stings worse than his slaps, worse than the bruises he makes Yunho wear. Changmin runs a thumb along Yunho’s collarbone and Yunho opens his mouth to drag in a breath, but is choked off with the need to scream. Changmin’s cock is shoving into him again, the blunt head forcing its way through the swollen rim. Yunho jerks as he’s split open, the muscles in his thighs coiled too tight.

There are red and black spots creeping in at the edge of his vision. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything but get fucked. His voice is gone and he can only whimper as Changmin’s teeth find his jugular. He shouldn’t enjoy this, but his cock thickens as Changmin sinks deeper. The hook is right inside him, hidden somewhere underneath his heart and sewn into his soul, and Changmin’s presence jerks him around until Yunho’s afraid that he’s going to come undone. Emptied out. He’s all spread open for Changmin, his entire being straining and shifting.

“Maybe I’ll get to fuck you in my dressing room.” The glee in Changmin’s voice is a serrated sharpness. He begins moving with more intent. Yunho’s spine ripples with each thrust and his knees skids against the wrinkles in the bedsheets, sliding forward inch by inch. He stares desperately at the headboard through the haze of tears, as his consciousness settles into nothing, but the weight of Changmin on top of him, the way his cock is hard from being fucked into the bed. “Right before the show. You’ll have to squeeze hard to keep everything inside.”

Yunho bites into the pillow when he comes, taste his own tears there.

 

*

 

“I’ll be in Japan for a while.” Yunho looks up from his rice, chopsticks hovering over a bowl of kimchi. Changmin is looking at him with a slanted grin, an amused gleam in his large eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

It sounds like a warning, a threat and Yunho nods, throat closing around nothing.

 

*

 

Jihye is turning seven in three days and she’s telling Yunho about the cat that’s just given birth under their aunt’s house. Three kittens and they’re softer than that scarf he bought for her last Christmas. Her voice is tinny across the line, artificial and he misses actually talking to her. Holding her hands. Braiding her hair. He asks if she’d named them, but she says she can’t find those poor kittens the next day. He laughs when he imagines her small face scrunching into a frown.

“ _You’ll come soon right, for my birthday? With Mummy?_ ”

Yunho’s fingers curl tighter around the phone. It’s not the first time he’d disappointed Jihye and the knowledge sits heavy in his guts. He wishes he’s a better brother, someone she deserves. “I-I can’t. I’ve got—”

“ _No! You promised! You said you’d come and you’ll take me to the park! You said you’ll take me home!”_

“Jihye—”

“ _You’re a liar! Liar! I hate you!_ ”

The flat line is as loud as an accusation, echoing endlessly inside his chest.

 

*

 

There’s not enough money to last him until the end of next month. He counts them. Again and again. The bills are creased between his fingers and he sits at the kitchen table, staring into the darkening sky outside. His mother isn’t around when he got home, left no note this time and he’s too exhausted to worry about her. He thinks about the rent and the bus tickets and the money for Jihye. He thinks about how much more he’ll have to sacrifice to chase after something so uncertain. But he’s gone too far to give up now and the only thing left to do is figure out how he’s going to dig himself out of this brand new shithole.

Jihye's voice is as clear as a nightmare.

_I hate you!_

Yunho scrolls through his contacts until he gets to the one he wants. Desperation claws at his insides, tears it into shreds and silences the voice in his head that tells him this is a terrible idea.

Yunho pushes ‘ _call_ ’ and waits.

“Hyung, I need your help.”

 

*

 

It’s dark outside, and the night air is thick and wet, curling instantly inside Yunho’s mouth and around the back of his neck, lying cold over his sweat. He follows Seongsok’s lead, keeping his head down so he doesn’t have to see where he’s going. The club is a tall brownstone building on the corner of the block. The windows on its upper story are screened in black, each one bookended with a thin stone column, suggesting an elegance in the building's former life that hasn't made it through this one. Music from the club plays loudly enough to be audible from halfway down the street, though it's no more distinct than a repetitive thump, like something banging along through the sewers. Seongsok nudges Yunho towards the back alley, a less conspicuous entrance. Inside, the club is made up of slanted segments of hot light and bodies. It's too loud for conversation, packed to cramped, unwelcome intimacy. The crowd parts around them, but not easily. To pass through, he has to twist and turn his shoulder, his body.

His head is starting to hurt.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Seongsok asks, not for the first time. The worry in his voice is palpable enough to be heard over the din. “I thought you quit?”

Yunho wipes a sweaty palm over the seat of his jeans. “I just— I need some quick money.”

Seongsok nods, but his mouth is an unhappy line. He grabs Yunho’s wrist, drags him towards the back of the club where the walls are lined with doors labelled with numbers. Private rooms. It’s a lot quieter too and that only makes Yunho more nervous. They stop at the end of the narrow hallway.

“Look. These guys are—” Seongsok swallows, eyes skittering away from Yunho’s face. It’s a few seconds before he continues. “Promise me you’ll be careful?”

“Don’t worry, hyung.” The words taste hollow in his mouth, false bravado. “Just this once. I found a part-time job, but I don’t start until next month.”

Seongsok exhales noisily, before he straightens. He knocks on the door and waits a few seconds before cracking it open, lowering his head into a bow as he addresses someone inside. There are three middle-aged men lounging on the sofa, looked like businessmen from the expensive cut of their suits and the way they size Yunho up when he greets them. Like they’re already putting a price tag on him. One of the men gestures Yunho closer, to the empty space next to him and pours a glass of dark gold liquid that he presses into Yunho’s hand. What Yunho tastes is the burn of the liquor, stripping off the inside of his throat on its way down.

Yunho coughs and nearly drops the glass.

“Ooh. I like this one.” The man grins, crooked, and the rest cackle like hyenas. His hand lands on Yunho’s thigh, squeezing and sliding upwards. There’s a wedding ring on his finger. Yunho thinks he might be getting sick, but he swallows it all down and tries for a coy smile. “Let’s go. Gotta see if you’re worth the money, boy.”

Yunho catches Seongsok’s eyes from across the room.

Thick fingers grab the back of his neck and shove him forward before he can say anything.

 

*

 

He’d forgotten what it’s like to get fucked by someone other than Changmin.

They’ve got him on all fours and his knees are skinned raw from being shoved across the coarse motel carpet. He’s being fucked from both ends – one man slamming into his ass and another cock buried down his throat – and he doesn’t have to do anything but take it. He’s rocked between them, from one cock to the other, face ground into curls of pubic hair and his thighs are spread wide by careless hands. Tears streak down his cheeks and he lets them manhandle him as they please, lets them nudge two cocks into his ass even if that makes him scream. The burn of their cocks as they slide inside him is broken glass and fire. It’s endless.

They call him a greedy slut and a cheap whore, laughing as they stripe his skin with come.

Just when Yunho thinks they’re done, they make him suck their flaccid dicks into hardness and they start all over again.

At one point, he blacks out.

When he comes to, there’s a cock riding the crease of his ass, another sliding over his tongue and someone’s coming over his ribs. The room is drenched in the smell of sex and cigarette and Yunho opens his mouth in a soundless scream when fingers start prodding and poking his abused ass, becoming more purposeful and dipping in knuckle-deep, fucking him shallowly. The ceiling spins above his head as he’s hauled to the bed, onto another cock. His heartbeat pounds heavy and dull in his chest and he’s gasping for breath, has lost count how many times they’ve passed him amongst themselves.

“Give us a call.” Someone tucks a business card between his teeth, right over his tongue, and pats his cheek roughly. Yunho’s entire body throbs and he can’t even muster enough strength to watch them leave. “Let’s cut the middle man next time, alright?”

 

*

 

Yunho turns his face up into the spray, hot water sluicing out the hurt from under his skin. He stares at the light blue tiles of the bathroom wall and swipes his tongue over the split in his lip, backwards and forwards over the soft, hot ache. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, sucks hard, and it splits again. Blood reaches the back of his tongue, thin and coppery. He ignores the clammy stickiness that’s still leaking out of his ass, smearing his thighs. It’ll wash down the drains and he can pretend none of this had happened.

His fingers curl over the tiles.

If he cries himself hoarse that night, he’ll pretend that doesn’t happen too.

 

*

 

“I fell,” he says to Hyukjae’s questioning stare. He hides behind a self-deprecating grin as he dumps his bag in one corner of the studio and joins Hyukjae, who’s already stretching. They’re earlier than the company dancers, figures that they should at least show how much they want this. Yunho touches the cut dissecting his lip with a fingertip. It’s already starting to crust over and he counts himself lucky that he doesn’t have to explain this to Changmin. “Didn’t notice the slippery floor sign.”

Hyukjae scoffs. “Your clumsy ass gonna get killed before we get to debut.”

Yunho laughs, the sound rattling like bone fractures inside his chest.

 

*

 

Yunho buys Jihye the largest teddy bear he can afford. Its shiny black button eyes stare at him as he ties a pink ribbon around its neck, loops a card through it.

 _Happy Birthday, Jihye!_ , the card says.

His sister still doesn’t want to talk to him, but he’d sent some money for a cake and whatever else she may need. He clenches his jaw as his aunt berates him for not coming to visit and for failing to take care of his mother (“ _Do you even know where she is, huh? She’s your mother and she’s sick, Yunho. You’re supposed to look out for her. If your father is here—_ ”). He doesn’t bother offering any excuse.

Yunho knows he’s a terrible older brother, a useless son. He knows.

 

*

 

He calls the number on the card. Twice.

They don’t ask for his name. They don’t offer theirs and make him call them ‘sir’. _Please, sir, let me suck your cock. Please fuck me, sir. More, sir, please fuck me harder._ His politeness never fails to make them laugh. They treat him like something less human, more a doll. With a hollow interior that they pump full of come, so Yunho would have to scrape them out of himself after they’re done. Sometimes there are only three of them, sometimes four. Sometimes there’s a fresh-faced younger man with them that looks at Yunho with something akin to pity. It doesn’t stop him from shoving his cock into Yunho’s mouth and ass though.  

He tries desperately not to think about Changmin when they ruthlessly fuck him open and make him beg for more.

 _“You’re mine now. And I expect you to take care of my property. I don’t have time for broken things_.”

It’s too late. He should’ve told Changmin that it’s too late.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Yunho’s hand shakes as he drags it over his mouth, grimacing at the aftertaste of vomit. He refuses to look into the mirror, afraid of what he might see there. Practice is becoming some kind of a personal hell – between the hours of commute and the relentless demand of perfection, he should be counting down to when his body will finally give up and break into splinters. The throbbing in his head is getting worse, but he doubts he can do anything about it. He just wants to get out of there. To find somewhere quiet, so he can curl up and forget everything for a while.

“It’s just a cold,” he murmurs, turning on the tap to splash tepid water onto his face. “I’ll be a hundred percent in a day or two.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Yundol.” Heechul’s voice is harsh, but Yunho knows he means well. Heechul always does. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s fucking killing you.”

“Hyung.” The word comes out clear, strong. Yunho grips the edge of the sink and smiles at Heechul, willing the façade to not crack under pressure. “I’m okay. You worry too much.”

Heechul looks at him for long seconds, before making a frustrated noise and stomping off.

Leaving Yunho to a deafening silence that offers little comfort.

 

*

 

Changmin comes back from Japan, is photographed extensively at the airport and Yunho finds a short text message in his inbox at the end of day.

It’s a different hotel this time, in the fringe of the city. Yunho gets there early and feels his spine loosen with relief when he sees the absence of tight lines around Changmin’s eyes and mouth. He looks to be in a good mood. Changmin orders room service as soon as he arrives and Yunho spends thirty minutes sitting at Changmin’s feet as he eats dinner, reading a book with a difficult title. He feeds Yunho morsels of food – steak slivers, chunks of baked potatoes, roasted cherry tomatoes. He makes Yunho lick off whipped cream from his fingers for dessert. When the plates are empty, Changmin goes for a shower.

Comes back to see Yunho on the bed, already naked and his inner thighs glistening with lube.

To Yunho’s surprise, Changmin makes a detour and pulls out two silk scarves from his bag. He stretches Yunho into strung-out lines and ties him to the headboard without a word. Yunho twists his wrists, tests how much give Changmin has allowed and the scarves bite into his skin in warning within millimetres. Tight enough to discourage any attempts to dislodge himself, almost cutting off his circulation. It will probably leave angry red welts that draw curious stares and questions, and he’ll have to practise the lies before he gets caught out. Again.

Changmin, sitting on his heels in the vee of Yunho’s splayed legs, smirks.

“Comfortable?” he asks, playful. Changmin runs a hand over the inside of his thigh, calloused fingers scraping against tender skin as if he’s intent on branding his fingerprints with every touch. Yunho groans, hips involuntarily hitching upwards. Changmin’s hand stills and his grin skews sharper. “Did you miss me?”

Yunho flushes a darker shade of red, skin prickling, as he watches Changmin watching him. "Y-Yes, hyung."

He doesn’t think it’s a lie and the realisation slices into him, leaves a gaping wound that oozes with guilt. And self-disgust. Changmin looks pleased and grabs Yunho’s ankle, spreading his leg further apart. His hand drags a path along Yunho’s calf, riding along the lines of his muscles and seconds later, a warm palm kneads at the flesh of his thigh. Yunho gasps when he feels nails sinking into skin and Changmin’s laughter is silky and warm, molasses sweet. His eyes flicker to catch Yunho’s and his mouth curves into a generous smile, one that Yunho shakily returns. Changmin’s hand moves higher and Yunho, heart pounding in his chest, cranes his neck to watch him.

It’s also how he doesn’t miss the sudden furrow of Changmin’s eyebrows.

A finger circles a patch of skin in the crux of Yunho’s inner thigh.

And pushes.

Yunho jerks, feeling the bruise there throb in reminder of all the ugly things he’d done in Changmin’s absence.

_No. No, no no no—_

Changmin surges up and grips Yunho’s jaw, thumb digging viciously into the hollow of his cheek. Changmin's entire face is pulled into a terrifying stillness, save for the storm brewing in his eyes. “ _Yunho_.”

Yunho makes a wet, hitched noise and tries to jerk his face away.

“Yunho, what the fuck did you do when I was gone?”

 

*

 

**tbc**

 

*

 

i still am lurking around in [twitter](https://twitter.com/voracyous).


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